


Taste Your Kiss, Sweet Lips Divine

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Gun Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, assholes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7232749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy loves two things: Clarke and guns. He especially loves Clarke with guns.</p><p>Meanwhile Clarke just really likes Bellamy in a thigh holster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste Your Kiss, Sweet Lips Divine

**Author's Note:**

> Smut happens when none of my 12 million wips are working out.
> 
> This was born partially because of [this post](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/post/146063760306/sassybellamyblake-anyone-else-ever-remember-its), and partially because of [this gifset](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/post/145729789251/bellamyblake-bellamy-blake-fullbodyshots-thats) (featuring my barely contained thirst in the tags #noshame) 
> 
> Title from AC/DC Fire Your Gun

Bellamy’s sole intention when he went to fetch Clarke from her quarters that morning was to teach her how to properly shoot. That’s it. He had no other motives whatsoever, especially sending him into a downward spiral that is the obsession of his co leader and guns.

“This is a waste of time,” she gripes, pulling her coat closer to ward off the early morning chill. “I know how to shoot a gun. You were there. You taught me.”

He holds a low lying branch out of the way for her to pass as they trek through the forest. “We were both high on jobi nuts and you only shot it like twice,” he retorts, a smug grin on his face. “And you missed the target too.”

“I could have gotten better.”

“You could,” he allows, “It takes you five tries to hit a target instead of eight now.” Bellamy has to dodge out of the way of her bony elbows as she tries to jab him, laughing as he does so. Only a few seconds later she’s right there giggling with him, and he takes a moment to just watch her.

They aren’t too far from Arkadia- a ten minute walk at most- but she’s already less tense, eyes less clouded and quicker to smile. She catches him looking and pulls a face, and he pulls on one of her braids in retaliation as they continue walking.

“You’re a decent shot,” he says at last, once they’ve reached the clearing. His hand drops to his side, pulling his trusty handgun from where it’s holstered to his thigh and passes it to her, not missing the way her eyes follow his movements. Bellamy has to bite the inside of his cheek to hide his smirk.

The feeling is fleeting though, because once her fingers trace over the barrel, slow and hesitant, his stomach twists and a burst of heat flashes through him, both very thorough reminders of what he felt last time he tried to teach her. They both may have been high, but he very distinctively remembers the way she clumsily gripped the rifle, how he rearranged her hands, the way her breath caught and pulse skittered when she finally fired it. He definitely remembers just how distracting it was.

Bellamy swallows heavily and shakes his head. “When we go out there in the next two weeks, we’re not going to have a ready supply of ammo on hand. We need to conserve bullets. You need to learn how to get the shot right on the first try,” he tells while drawing a crude bull’s-eye on a tree trunk.

“I’m in your group,” she grumbles, “You’re a good enough shot for the both of us,” but she gets in to position anyway, holding the gun firmly while he ducks his head to hide the pleased grin.

She looks over at him while he’s surveying her stance, eyes roving his body and lingering on the empty holster.

“So,” she says, aiming for breeziness, “When I’m finally up to your standards do I get one of those?”

This time he doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk. “We’ll see,” he says, letting his fingers drum against the buckle. “Use both hands to grip it. It’ll lessen the feel of the recoil and you’ll get a better aim.”

Clarke does he says, lining it up with white dot in the middle. “I’m just saying, I think it’ll go nicely with my coat,” she continues, “Y’know, that whole space princess aesthetic thing.”

“This coat is ugly as fuck and you know it.”

“ _You’re_ ugly as fuck,” she replies before sticking out her tongue.

Grinning for real this time, Bellamy bumps her shoulder with his. “Take the damn shot, Clarke. Then we can discuss ‘doing it for the aesthetic.’”

She does as she’s told for once, and the bang echoes through the clearing while the tree splinters. There’s a small hole on the outermost circle where the bullet entered.

“Not bad,” he says, “But could be better.”

“Everything could be better with you,” she grumbles, and he ignores her, swiping the gun before she can even blink. The grip is still warm from her hands and Bellamy tries to ignore the warmth of her hands _elsewhere_.

Pushing all other thoughts out his head, he readies his stance and fires twice, both going through the small circle in the centre.

“Show off,” she says, but she’s smiling and her eyes keep glancing at the gun.

He gives is back to her and watches as she readies to take another shot.

“Relax your shoulders,” he says, stepping up behind her and resting his hands on them. “And squeeze gently. Stop trying to strangle the gun.”

“I’m going to strangle you if you don’t stop telling me what to do,” she says in an offhand way, and he pinches the inside of her bicep for good measure. Nonetheless, she follows his advice and though this time it also doesn’t land in the centre, it’s still closer than last.

“Good,” he tells her, before stalking back and leaning against a tree to watch her. “Do it again. With enough practice we can still turn you into a marksman,” he jokes and she just rolls her eyes, firing once more.

They head out to the clearing ever other day if they can, and Bellamy makes it a rule to have to reload the magazine only once. They still might be in camp, but that doesn’t mean they have bullets to waste. Despite her grumbling, Clarke is eager to learn, and she’s taken to swiping the gun out of his holster before they even get there most days. He tries very hard not to think about her fingers grazing his thigh while she quickly sneaks it out. It’s difficult to say the least.

She even goes as far to express wanting to learn how to use a rifle and if he didn’t know he had a thing for seeing her with his hand gun, then watching her hold his rifle with sure, nimble fingers would have done it. He hates the flash of heat and want that pangs through him whenever she picks up a gun now, hates it even more when he’s pressed against her back, helping her position it the first few times, having to hear her pleased little gasps when she hits her target, having to feel the small shiver that runs down her spine when she grips it.

All of this just reminds him how much he wants to feel her, not only as he’s the reason for those little gasps and shivers, but feel her warmth as she falls asleep next to him, feel her softness when she presses up against him.

It’s decidedly the worst and the best and he’s taken a number of cold showers, heart sitting heavy, because of these sessions.

By the time they’re ready to head off and deactivate the plants, he’s fairly confident in her ability to shoot a gun and hit the target on the first try now. Which is why, the morning of their departure, he meets with her before they’re set to meet the rest of their group at the gate, quietly slipping into her room while she’s finishing up getting ready.

“Got you something,” he says as he closes the door behind him. She barely looks up, from her pack, trying to see if she can fit an extra med kit in there.

He steps into her then, commanding all her attention towards him, and, before she can even breathe a word, Bellamy drops to his knees.

Her hands immediately grabs at his shoulder, a wordless gasp flying past her lips, but he pays no heed to it, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out the leather enclosed gun.

Bellamy takes his time securing the holster around her thigh, the click of each clasp buckling together sounding ten times louder in the empty room, and the only other sound to be heard is their harsh breathing. Once it’s secured, he traces it, ghosting his fingers across her thigh and looks up at her.

She’s already looking down at him, pupils blown wide, a rapid rise and fall of her chest, and he’s suddenly aware of the lack of space between them, the way her fingers flirt with the edges of his too long hair, just how easy it would be to lean forward and press open mouthed kisses to her stomach, to see if he can make her gasp and shiver just like the gun does. His palm is splayed across her hip, and he’s just about to pull her closer when there’s a knock at the door, reminding them that they leave in ten.

He gets to his feet then, and she sighs, whether in relief or disappointment he doesn’t know.

Clearing his throat he tells her, “Now you’ve got your space princess aesthetic,” but his voice is hoarse even in his own ears, a trickle of lust still leaking through, making it gravelly and rough.

“Got it,” she replies, and her irises are still reduced to a thin ring of blue as she brushes her hand across the new accessory. He helps her finish pack, and the two of them make it to the gate just in time.

He notes how her hands can’t stop finding the holster as they trek through the forest, tracing the straps, caressing the exposed grip of the gun, letting a single finger trail across the exposed lines. Bellamy’s not proud to admit it, but he’s almost walked into a number of trees and low lying branches because he was far too distracted by the combination of her fingers, the gun, and that damn holster.

And if that isn’t enough, she keeps glancing over at him whenever she flicks the top of it, the same heat in her eyes that she wore when he dropped to his knees in front of her and buckled it tight before they left this morning. It makes his hand clench with the memory of her warmth, the little catch in her breath, pupils blown wide.

The air is uncomfortable charged between them and whenever their hands brush, it feels likes sparks running down the length of his body. It’s a goddamn miracle no one else in their group has noticed it as yet, because he’s fairly sure that the want between them is palpable.

They stop for the night two hours after the sun sets, and Bellamy slips away to get a hold of himself. He can’t keep acting like this while they’re out saving the world, like a little boy with his first crush.

He’s still trying to talk some sense into himself when there’s a crack behind him and he whirls around to find Clarke, wringing her hands and gnawing her bottom lip.

He’s not sure what prompts him to reach out and tug her lip free from her teeth, but he does it anyway, letting the pad of his thumb ghost across it. This time he feels it when she sucks in a breath.

“I didn’t thank you. For the holster,” she says after a while, eyes half lidded and intense.

“It was nothing.”

“Right.”

For a moment they just stare at each other, her eyes dark with want and his heart in his throat. Clarke cracks first, muttering, “Fuck it,” under her breath and stalking forward determinedly, closing the gap between them as she pulls his face down to hers.

Her mouth is hard against his, unyielding and demanding, and she grips onto him tight. Bellamy makes a sound in the back off his throat before kissing her back, hands pulling her hips flush to him, feeling the metal of her gun poking him in the leg.

They’re both too keyed up, possibly wanting this for a while, and he lets himself sink into her warmth, lets his tongue trace the sharp edges of her teeth while she pulls at his hair. She doesn’t mind him being a little rough with her, gripping her hips hard, teeth scraping across her skin, wedging a thigh between her legs for her to grind against.

Bellamy means to push her against a tree, to rip her shirt off and kiss his way down her chest. However the earth beneath them is sloped downward, made of loose dirt and rock and the next thing he knows, they’re both slipping forward, tumbling to the ground.

It’s not a hard fall, he catches onto a tree trunk while she digs her heels in, but it only slows the inevitable and the next thing they know, they’re flat on their asses, laughing into each others’ mouth. The kisses get sloppy, more tooth than lip and he tries to lick the taste of mirth off her tongue, and by the time they pull back, they’re both flushed and warm.

“Hi,” he says, smiling goofily at her while he tugs on her hair.

Clarke leans forward and noses his cheek softly. “Hi.”

This time when they kiss, it’s much softer, slower, and he likes the feeling of flames licking up his sides. It’s kind of awkward, she’s sitting on the side of him and they both have to twist to meet each other, but he can’t focus on anything but Clarke and her softness beneath his hands, her hair brushing his shoulders, her lips sweet against his.

She lets go of him to breathe, and Bellamy takes his chance to haul her into the vee of his legs, teeth nipping at her jaw and trailing kisses down her neck.

“This okay?” he mumbles into her skin, and when she nods, wiggling her hips to get more comfortable, they rub against his cock, rock hard and trapped in his pants, and he hisses. She does it again, this time with even more intent, practically grinding in his lap and Bellamy has to hold her still, breathing shakily.

She’s giggling, but it stops almost instantaneously when he drops his hands to her legs.

Her breath hitches when his hands find the holster wrapped around her thigh, and Bellamy feels her pulse jump under his lips. He takes his sweet time undoing the clasps, letting his fingers trace her inner thigh through the worn fabric of her pants and thumbs dip in the crease where her leg meets her hip. The metal is warm when he finally releases it from its confines, and he lightly drags it up her leg, until he reaches where she’s aching for him most, pressing it teasingly until a soft mewl claws its way from her throat and she tilts her hips against it.

Bellamy rumbles out a laugh, and places the gun on the side, just out of reach, before undoing the holster completely, tossing it over his shoulder not caring where it ends up.

“Up,” he orders gruffly, fingers dancing over the soft flesh of her stomach as he unsnaps her pants. Clarke complies easily, almost eagerly, and they both push off her trousers and panties, moaning loudly when his hand finally covers her pussy.

She’s already soaked, slickness gleaming in the moonlight, and Bellamy sinks blunt teeth into her t shirt covered shoulder, taking a moment to process it all. He wants to tease her, take his time bringing her to the edge before easing back, until she’s begging for it, shaking in his arms and writhing, desperate for release.

But the ground is hard and uncomfortable, even through his pants, so he can’t imagine how it must feel on her bare skin, so instead he pulls her flush against him, his hips involuntarily grinding into her ass, and swipes his thumb over her clit.

He traces her outer lips with his fingers, gathering wetness there and spreads it around while she throws her head back, panting. When he finally lets his fingers dip into her cunt, Clarke bites down hard on her lip to muffle a groan and Bellamy clucks his tongue.

“None of that,” he tells her, using his other hand to tug it free. He swipes a quick kiss, just a bit of tongue flicking her lip as he pulls away. “I want to hear you.”

She whimpers, and he feels her walls contract around his fingers as he pumps steadily. Clarke does she’s told, letting each moan and sigh slip past her mouth without shame as Bellamy works her below, grinding his thumb against her clit while he fucks her with his fingers, his other hand tracing up her side, cupping her breasts through her t shirt and squeezing.

As she gets closer to the edge, her moans grow in volume and frequency, each one of them going straight to his cock, and it’s all he can do to hold her still, redoubling his efforts to get her off before he ends up coming without even being inside her.

It only takes a few more moments, flicking her clit side to side while he hooks his fingers up, catching them on a patch of nerves near the end of her channel and that’s it, she’s gone, stiffening in his arms as her walls clench tightly around his fingers, holding them there while she sighs in contentment. He continues stroking her through it, only stopping when she drops her hand to his wrist.

Bellamy uses his free hand to pet her gently, bringing her down from, while he sneaks the other in his mouth, licking his fingers clean. He can’t help but moan at the taste of her, eyes sinking shut, and he feels Clarke’s own moan vibrate through him when she finally catches on.

He’s still basking in the taste of her when she turns around to push him onto his back. “Your turn,” she says, still breathing heavily from her orgasm, and he goes willingly, ignoring the sharp edges of the undergrowth prodding him in the back and shifts his legs to make it easier for her to kneel before him.

Her hands immediately drop to the button of his pants, and she nuzzles his erection, causing his hips to jerk and him to swear above her while she pulls the zipper down with her teeth. She presses a chaste kiss to it over the fabric of his boxers, before moving down, and before Bellamy realises, she’s nipping his thigh and undoing his holster with her teeth.

“Fuck, Clarke,” he groans, hand immediately going to her hair, pulling it away from her face so he can see her mouth, the glint of teeth in the faint light, and he groans again.

“This is distracting,” she breathes, glancing up at him for a brief second while she trails her hand over it, over his gun, making sure to squeeze his thigh while she’s at it. “ _Unfairly_ distracting.”

She doesn’t dawdle, using her hands as well to get it off, but she makes sure to tug it all the way off with her mouth before helping him out of his pants.

“You know what’s distracting?” he gasps while she pulls his boxers off as well. “You handling those guns- _my_ guns.”

She pulls off her shirt, leaving her in nothing but her threadbare Ark issued bra, soft flesh threatening to spill from its cups and his mouth goes dry for a minute.

“What about that is distracting?” she asks, pushing his t shirt up so she could scratch her nails against his abdomen. He grabs the collar to pull the damn thing off, and she’s on him before it’s even over his head licking a hot stripe down his sternum. “Tell me. I want to hear you talk.”

Her hands are braced on his hips, and she’s sitting on his knees, his cock bobbing in the space between them, but she doesn’t touch it, not yet. “Come on, Bellamy,” she tells him, spitting on her hand, “I want you to tell me what’s distracting. I want to hear your voice.”

He can’t help but groan at that, tensing when she swipes her thumb over his slit.

“Everything,” he breathes, tweaking her nipple through the bra. “Your hands especially. Fuck Clarke, do you know what you look like when you’re holding a gun? You’re always tracing it up and down, playing with it, and I just think about what else you can do with those hands of yours.”

Her grin is feral she looks at him, dropping her spit covered hand to give him a firm tug. “Oh, they can do _plenty_.”

He chokes on a moan at her words, and Clarke laughs, bright and easy.

“What was it you said?” she asks, grinning wickedly while she strokes his dick, “Squeeze gently?" and she does just that, causing his eyeballs to roll back in his head.

“Fuck,” he gasps, muscle in his jaw jumping. He has to screw his eyes shut and breathe deeply, because the sight of her with his dick in her hands is too much for him to handle.

“What else?” she asks, slowing her strokes until she’s barely even touching him, a merciful reprieve. “I want to know everything, Bellamy.”

At least it was a merciful reprieve, for the second she finally stops gripping him, she puts her mouth on him, tongue twisting around the head and causing his eyes to fly open.

“You’re not telling me,” she says when she pulls for a moment, mouth glistening with spit.

Bellamy pets back her hair from her face and she nuzzles into his palm like a cat. Finally, he says with pursed lips, “The holster’s a good look on you.”

She grins before diving back in, licking his slit and moaning at the salty taste of him. “Thanks,” she says brightly when she pauses to pay some attention to his balls. “I think it’s a good look on you too.”

He grunts, fingers tightening in her hair in a way that must be painful, but she just moans. “Really? I had no clue. You hid it well.”

A slight shock of pain bursts through the haze of pleasure when she bites his hip, and he yanks on her hair again, pulling her up so he can see her face. She hitches an eyebrow, “Are you always this sarcastic when someone’s got your dick in their mouth?”

He barks out a laugh and she gets back to her ministrations. “Are you always this talkative when _you’ve_ got a dick in your mouth?”

Clarke grins around his cock, letting it go with a soft ‘pop’ long enough to say, “Well, shut me up then.”

It’s probably not what she had in mind when he lifts her off, a displeased sound coming past her lips and she frowns. “Hey. I liked it there.”

Bellamy ducks his head, kissing her long and hard until they’re both winded. “Trust me, I liked you there too,” he says as he undoes her bra, immediately dropping his mouth to suck one breast in his mouth while his hand kneads the other. His teeth scrape the hardened nub of her nipple when he releases it and she sighs. “But I’d also like to feel you around me when you make me come for the first time, so,” and he grins victoriously when she shudders in his arms.

She kisses the grin off his face and he helps rearrange her so that she’s straddling his lap, her hands braced on his shoulders. “Sounds like a plan,” she pants, before rising to her knees and sinking down on him in one move.

They both groan in unison, one of his hands coming to cup her exposed breast while the other pulls her hair, giving him access to her neck. He’s already close from her hands and mouth before, and it turns out that Clarke apparently really, _really_ likes giving blowjobs if the wetness dripping on to his thighs is anything to go by. It just makes him groaning again, dropping his forehead against hers for a second.

It’s sloppy and messy and embarrassingly short, but the few minutes that he does spend inside her are the best fucking minutes of his life, pun intended.

Clarke makes little whimpers each time he thrusts up in to her, making it known very loudly when he does something that she likes, and bracing her hands on his chest to grind down, clit sliding against his skin, and take him deep when she gets close. Just the image of her riding down on him, head thrown back while her hand covers his on her chest is enough to send him over the edge, and he only manages to hold off long enough until he feels her start to clench irregularly around him, the walls of her cunt milking him for what he’s worth.

“Oh my god,” she says, slumping forward and pressing her face into his neck after their orgasms wash over her, even as she still flutters feebly around his cock. Bellamy mumbles some wordless garble in assent, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree, only now feeling the scrapes along his shoulders and back. He ignores it, eyes closing in bliss and breathing slowing.

A few moments later something pinches his side and he jumps. “I swear to god if you fall asleep, I’m leaving your naked ass right here,” she threatens and he squeezes her stomach in return.

“I just need a minute,” he says, adamantly keeping his eyes shut, and he feels her laughter ghost across his neck.

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” she crows proudly.

He twists his head to press a kiss to his hair before shushing her, and Clarke laughs again, though this time she lets her body sag fully against him, pressing her nose to his pulse point. Bellamy pets up and down her spine, and she kisses his collarbone with a content sigh.

“Alright,” she says softly, shifting to rest her head against his heart. It beats strongly against her ear and he wraps his arms around her, feeling at peace. “Whenever you’re ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/) i'm taking prompts :)


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